


If You Know

by tenshi_who



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alpha/Omega, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 20:48:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenshi_who/pseuds/tenshi_who
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cristiano’s got a problem. Sergio’s got a solution. (Actually, Sergio is the solution.)</p><p> </p><p>Alpha/Omega-verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Know

Cristiano’s phone buzzes a notification.

He looks up from packing his gym bag and glances at the phone on his dresser. He zips the bag closed, pats his pockets (keys, wallet, ok, I’ve got everything) and grabs his phone, unhurried. He’s still pretty early.

He’s expecting a text but instead it’s an alert; it doesn’t say much and Cris is already sighing by the time he unlocks his screen. Even without having to check the app he’d know; the calendar will show a week’s worth of orange days and three or four days marked in red. His heat cycle.

Cristiano can always feel when his heat is coming, always gets that sense that something’s off with him before he can ever remember what it is. It only happens once a year, enough to forget for a while before it hits him again: that buzzing longing feeling settling into his stomach and into the back of his mind, the need. Ever since puberty he’s been experiencing heats like this, just a side-effect of his omega biology, and he’s pretty much used to how it works, how to get it taken care of, how to function day to day when all he can think about is how badly he needs a cock up his ass.

His normal routine involves holing up in his big house, telling his mom he’d need her to watch Junior for a few days (she’d never ask questions, just agree to do so with a look of quiet understanding) and calling an discrete agency that specializes in meeting the needs of well-recognized and powerful omegas. He’d spend three or four days in a frantic haze of fucking, wearing out the poor beta he’d been sent. Then he’d pay the guy, gather up his dignity again and get back to normality. He’d silence the newspapers that would be lamenting his recent “goal drought”, finally able to think clearly and play like his old self again.

Cris taps at his phone and turns it off, thinking. He’ll be fine for another day or two before he has to call the agency. He grabs his gym bag with his gear in it and his bag with his street clothes before heading out the door.

 

~*~

 

“Cristiano!”

Another botched pass and Cristiano throws his head back in frustration, turns back around and jogs to the starting point. They’re doing passing drills, and Cristiano’s feet feel like lead. His usually-stellar footwork is off and the coaching staff has definitely noticed, as well as some of his teammates. They’re a precious four points ahead of Barça and everyone is rightfully tense, hoping to add more breathing room to the gap. Mourinho’s been putting them through the paces all day, especially the midfielders and forwards. They won their last match but had some problems finishing and it’s definitely not a good sign that their star winger’s been having problems getting to passes in practice.

Finally he hears “Agua, agua!” and the drill breaks up, players gravitating to each other and making their way toward the techs. Cristiano takes his bottle and takes a long drink, then pours some water over his face, slaps his cheeks, and just tries to get his head back.

~*~

“Oye, Sergio! Hang on a minute,” Iker calls out as he jogs over to the defender. Sergio shoots him a questioning grin as he slows down his pace to allow the goalie to catch up. They make their way over to get water side by side. “You’ve noticed Cris today, right?” he asks.

“Yeah, I have. It’s strange, huh? He’s usually sharper out there, but today he’s been really flat.” Sergio noticed the difference earlier, though, not just today. He’s seen the little changes that most people aren’t looking at, took notice because by now he knows Cris so well. He’d noticed when the other day Cris had been spacing out during practice, eyes glazed over and far away, and then he’d snap back to the present with an angry look of frustration. He noticed when earlier today Cris decided to stretch alone, pointedly leaving Kaka and Marcelo looking at him from the other side of the group. Even now: Cristiano was guzzling water and Karim was chatting with him, taking measured sips. Cris was looking down at his shoes, off to the side, answering monosyllabically. It wasn’t Cris.

“I think mister has noticed too, and it’s looking like the guys are seeing it as well. Can you talk to him? Find out if it’s something fixable by Sunday or if it’s personal or with one of the team. We just need him ready.”

“You want me to talk to him?” It’s not that he doesn’t like Cris or doesn’t want to talk to him, but he’s surprised. When it comes to the personal matters of Cristiano Ronaldo, of all people to ask… “Why not Kaka, or someone else that can talk to him as a friend?”

“Because I need someone that can talk to him as a captain, Sergio. Just to make sure he’s ok, alright?” Once Iker is in captain-mode he really can’t be budged. He’s got the determined don’t-argue-with-me look on and Sergio has no choice.

 

~*~

 

Their next drill is ball control, and for this one they’re supposed to pair up. Sergio decides (with the help of Iker’s pointed look) that it’s his cue to go and partner with Cris. He honestly doesn’t think the Portuguese needs much of a talking to. He knows Cris is probably frustrated with his poor performance last match against Athletic, that he’s probably still kicking himself for not getting to Mesut’s perfectly set up clutch pass, or for kicking the penalty out wide. Cris is the type of guy who replays matches in his head, who repeats repeats repeats the parts where he went wrong and comes up with ten different scenarios for what he could have done better. Sergio is pretty sure Cris just needs a bit of time before he’s fine again. But then again, it’s been two days since the match (which they still won, so Cris shouldn’t even be that upset) and in five days they have Osasuna, then Champions League, then they face Valencia, and then a clasico. Iker’s right; they need Cris ready.

He smiles blithely at the scathing look he gets from Fabio and lines up a few feet in front of Cristiano, whose eyes are twinkling with curiosity. “Come to break up the Portugal party, Cuqui?” Cris’s smile is strained.

“I don’t like how you all gather around and scheme,” he jokes, “You and Pepe especially, you guys scare me.” This gets Cristiano chuckling as he takes control of the ball, but even though there’s a smile on his face Sergio can see that the light is off in his eyes. He feels a tugging in his chest at seeing him so off-center. Cris replies with something that Sergio laughs at. He’s watching Cris closely now, the tugging in his chest turning into a protectiveness; he needs to know what’s wrong and he needs to fix it, needs to make Cristiano’s smile reach his eyes.

He watches Cris go for the ball with the wrong foot and then quickly scramble back to use the right one. He misses it and the ball bounces off his shin and away from him, toward Sergio. He mumbles something sharp to himself in Portuguese and jogs over to get the ball back just as Sergio ambles forward to pass it to him. Sergio can smell Cris when he gets close; he inhales the scent of his cologne, mixed in with the smell of the detergent on his kit, the grass of the pitch, the sweat and-

His head snaps up. He looks up at Cris and suddenly he can’t look away, just stares at him as Cris begins the drill again. Sergio’s gone completely still, that feeling in his chest sinking low, low into his gut. Cris seems to sense Sergio’s look because at that moment he glances up, sees Sergio and asks, “What’s wrong, Gitano?” Cris’s smirk fades when he sees the look on Sergio’s face. “What?” he repeats, softer this time.

“You’re an omega,” he says lowly, tone half accusatory, half disbelieving. Cristiano’s face completely freezes and he lets the ball drop to grass.

“How-”

“It makes sense now, shit, it’s so obvious right now. God, I can’t believe I didn’t smell it on you sooner; your pheromones are all over the place. You’ve been like this for days now, haven’t you? You… you’re in heat.” Sergio whispers the last part.

Cristiano can’t even respond, he’s too busy processing the fact that, apparently, Sergio Ramos of all people, knows, that they’re actually having this conversation.

Sergio steps closer to him almost by compulsion, that feeling in his gut pulling him in like a dog on a leash. He could kick himself for being such an idiot. They’re almost nose to nose now; just standing there eyes locked taking each other in like they were seeing each other for the first time.

Someone calls something out behind him, but all Cristiano can hear is the blood rushing in his ear, his heartbeat racing. All he can think about are the new possibilities. Sergio is so obviously an alpha (how could I not have noticed that?) and he’s thinking that it might not be so bad, having Sergio know. It could be nice to be around an alpha for once, to not have to hole up with a complete stranger for days, so many things could be different-

A hand lands heavy on his shoulder and he sees Sergio’s eyes glare sharply at something behind him before he gets turned around. He’s facing Aitor who’s wearing a serious look and holding a clipboard. Sergio is staring him down behind him.

“Everything ok here?” Aitor asks, looking back and forth between the two. Sergio steps even closer to Cris, his hip and shoulder now barely touching Cris’s back, his short measured breaths ghosting along his neck and ears. A fine shudder crawls up Cris’s spine.

While Sergio is reassuring Karanka that no, nothing’s going on here, Cristiano takes a moment to look around at their teammates. About a dozen eyes look away at that moment as everyone goes back to their drills. Cris feels his face flush; his field of vision had narrowed down to just Sergio and he hadn’t even realized that half the team and coaching staff had been watching. He risks a look over to Mourinho, and he sees him looking back with a glint in his eye. Cris tears his eyes away.

Once Aitor is placated he walks away, leaving Cris with Sergio again. Sergio’s hand sneaks up to cup the back of Cristiano’s neck and says, loudly so the other guys hear, “Back to work maquina. Gotta work on that ball control.” He tightens his grip and Cris feels his knees twitch; his body wanting him to fall to his knees, to bend over and spread his legs for Sergio, right here on the pitch. He chokes back a moan and Sergio chuckles in his ear.

He glances over at Mourinho again and he’s watching them with that same glint in his eyes, expectant. That look is enough to get his legs moving again and start walking away from Sergio, away from his smell and the heat in his eyes, the strength in his hands.

 

~*~

 

Sergio’s not in the locker room by the time Cristiano makes it there, but his stuff is still there. (Must be in the showers then.) He can barely bring himself to make small talk with his teammates before he’s stripping down and heading back to the showers as well. He immediately catches the smell of Sergio in the air. He’s in one of the showers back along the back wall, so Cristiano ducks into one of the ones furthest away from it, intending to put plenty of space between him and the alpha.

He takes his time getting clean, more time than strictly necessary. Mostly he just lets the water wash over him and breathes, tries to get himself back in control and think of anything other than the fact that he is very much aroused now and that there is a beautiful, viable alpha probably waiting for him outside. Once every last part of him is clean he shuts off the showerhead and can hear that he’s the last person there. He wraps a towel around his hips, gets his things together and heads back to the locker room.

Sergio is sitting on a bench, hunched over tying his shoelaces as Álvaro talks his ear off about something or another. He’s in his street clothes and he doesn’t look up when Cris walks in, but Cris can see the way his jaw flexes, his shoulders tense, his fingers fumble on a loop. He’s giddily proud that he caused it.

He tries to get dressed as slowly as he can while Álvaro’s still talking. He was able to get his underwear and jeans on, is reaching for a shirt when he hears Arbeloa’s goodbye. He looks up and gives him a thin smile as goodbye and out of the corner of his eye he can see Sergio’s grin. The door clicks closed and finally, it’s just him and Sergio.

Sergio, who is raking eyes over him like a man starved, who is getting up from the bench now, walking over. He crosses the locker room and crowds into Cris, every last shred of patience apparently gone. “How the fuck didn’t I know?” he groans into the crook of Cris’s neck. Cris lets his head tilt back and Sergio breathes deep, savoring his scent. Sergio’s hands suddenly are all over; one curls around his hip, another slides down the silky skin of his bare spine, from between his shoulders all the way down to the curve of his ass. Cris can’t even answer him, just presses himself against the other man’s body. He can feel Sergio’s cock through his jeans, already half-hard and he can feel his own erection responding in kind. His hips are pressing up and his thighs are spreading, making room for Sergio to slot himself right in between. Vaguely, he thinks that maybe he’s lost control of the situation. (Honestly, maybe he lost control of it a while ago.)

“How long have you been like this? Days now?” He’s walking Cristiano back toward the lockers, guiding him along with his hips while Cris’s hands scrabble over Sergio’s back to cling to his shoulders.

“I’ve been fine,” he grunts between pants, his breath now coming in gasps. “Normally it passes and no one knows it happened.” He thuds against the lockers and Sergio’s just mauling him now with his hot mouth open on his neck, sucking bruises into the sensitive skin there. Cris lets his head thump back against the lockers, taking it all. He grabs at Sergio, pulls him even closer and rolls his hips against the Spaniard’s. He has absolutely no shame left in him; it’s been way too long since someone has made him feel so… dominated, and they haven’t even fucked. (Oh god, we’re gonna fuck.)

He can feel Sergio’s hand move to unbuckle Cris’s jeans, somehow wedging his fingers between them and pulls down on the zipper. He lets out a keening moan when Sergio pulls his hand away and grabs at his hip again.

“What are you doing Sergio? Come on, please, god,” he whines. Sergio nips at his mouth in warning (I’m in control here), and then decides that kissing Cris would be a better way to quiet his protests. Cris’s mouth opens for him all on its own and they meet in a messy kiss, tongues and lips and hints of teeth blending together, and yes, Cris will definitely let Sergio take control, take whatever he wants, take just about everything.

Sergio’s hand on his hip pulls his lower body up away from the lockers so his hips are pressed against Sergio’s and his back is still against the lockers. The hand on his ass slips down under his waistband, fingers sliding in between the crease to tease at his hole. He pulls away from Cristiano’s lips to pant in his ear, “My god Cris, look at this ass. I can’t believe you’re so wet.” Cristiano hadn’t even realized it, hadn’t noticed his omega biology getting his body ready for Sergio, for what it knew was going to happen. He hears himself moaning “please please please” like a mantra and he’s spreading his legs, mindlessly thrusting back at the questing fingers rubbing at his swollen entrance.

“You want me to fuck you Cris? You want me to fill you up with my come, just fucking plug you up with it and then fuck you again, no lube, just your slick and my come. You want that Cris?” His fingers are pressing harder, not pushing in but now they’re no longer teasing, they’re promising. Cris is still saying “please please please,” not registering what Sergio is saying but wanting it all. He’s not thinking of anything other than the other man’s fingers, his hands, the weight against his body.

Sergio, apparently, is not that far gone.

“Not here,” he groans against Cris’s neck, stopping his fingers, stilling his hips. Cris lets out a whine of frustration, grabbing at Sergio’s hips to keep him close.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“I mean it. Anyone could walk in here, Cris. We don’t want some poor janitor coming in and getting scarred for life or worse, selling stories to the press.” He sucks Cris’s earlobe into his mouth, twirls the earring around with his teeth.

Now how the fuck is he supposed to agree when Sergio is still driving him crazy? His fingers are still at Cris’s asshole for god sake.

“You can’t just start shit and not finish it. Do you know what they hell you’re doing to me? I don’t care about some imaginary janitor Sergio, I need you to fuck me.” Sergio’s eyes go dark at his name, eyelids drooping, and he swoops down to catch Cristiano’s lips again. He swallows down Cris’s groan when he pulls his hand out of the other man’s jeans. Sergio bites down on the Portuguese’s bottom lip and shushes him, then slants his lips down to kiss him again, longer this time. He pulls away when he feels Cris press up against him again.

“Not here,” he repeats with a tone of finality. “We’re going to my place. I definitely intend to finish what I started, believe me, but we’re going to want something more comfortable than some lockers and benches for all the things I plan to do with you.” The promise in his voice is enough to make Cris’s knees go weak. Sergio pulls away from him completely and turns away, licking his fingers clean. He picks up Cris’s polo off the floor and tosses it at him. Cristiano doesn’t even move to catch it, just sags against the lockers and tries to catch his breath. Sergio lets out an amused chuckle.

 

~*~

 

They pile their stuff in the back and get in Sergio’s car. They didn’t pass anyone in the quiet halls on the way out to parking (“See, Sergio!” “No, still too risky, stop being a child.”) and Sergio makes the executive decision that he’ll be the driver. (“You’re not that… how should I say, you’re not in the right frame of mind for the operation of heavy expensive machinery,” he says with a glance at Cris’s erection, still visible through his pants which he had been covering with a gym bag. Cris responds with a pointed look at Sergio’s own hardness but does not disagree.)

 

~*~

 

“So what do you normally do during your heats?” Sergio asks, earning a wry look from Cris. “No, I mean, you get them once a year, right? How do you take care of it? And how the fuck didn’t I know?” he sounds almost offended. He taps his fingers (the same fingers that were almost inside Cris) on Cristiano’s inner thigh, hand resting there with fingers teasing up and down the seam. The Portuguese spreads his knees a bit to accommodate, leaning further down in the passenger’s seat.

“I just call a service when it happens. I’ve got my timing down pretty well by now so when I know it’s coming I usually just… get someone brought in.”

“So you’re saying that you’re not on any medication? You don’t suppress, at all?” His eyebrow is raised high in disbelief. He stops at the red light. “Are you insane?”

“What am I supposed to do Sergio? Of course I can’t suppress. I’m Cristiano fucking Ronaldo,” he spits out bitterly, “even if I go see a good doctor and get a script, then what? I just stroll over to FarMás and have them fill a prescription for omega heat suppressants for Real Madrid’s most discussed forward? I don’t think so. That shit would be everywhere the next day. It’s fine if you’re an alpha, nobody would think twice if Cristiano Ronaldo was an alpha. But an omega? Fuck, I’m getting death chants in stadiums as I am now, imagine what would happen if they knew what I was, as well.” He cringes as he pictures it, and Sergio hums his agreement, smoothing his hand over Cris’s thigh. He knows how it is, knows how hard it is for an omega to be taken seriously anywhere, especially in the workplace with no one wanting to take orders from “their kind”, especially not alphas. Professional sports are just as tough; he’s heard gossip of coaches, good coaches, being quietly let go once their status was revealed, he knows how rare it is for an omega to ever make it out of a cantera, facing demotion and relegation until they finally just give up. Alphas and betas run professional football; omegas are few and far between.

He glances at Cristiano out of the corner of his eye and is suddenly filled with overwhelming pride. Pride for Cristiano and all that he’s accomplished: the Pichichi and the Ballon d’Or and Player of the Year, that it was his header that won them the Copa and his goal against Barcelona that won them the league. His chest is full of pride and respect for this strong, beautiful man. He squeezes Cris’s thigh and says, voice thick, “It shouldn’t even matter Cristiano. I mean- look at you.” He can’t find how to put his feelings into words.

“It shouldn’t fucking matter,” he repeats, even though he knows it does. He just wants to grab Cris, wrap him up in his arms, hold him close to his chest, and hide him away from the world. There’s protectiveness, there’s possessiveness, there’s other emotions that he can’t identify, much less express out loud, but he hopes Cristiano can see them in his eyes. Cristiano opens his mouth as if to reply then closes it, glancing away. He drops a hand onto Sergio’s on his thigh and yes, Sergio is sure that he can.

The driver behind them flashes his headlights at them has he passes their car, honking angrily. The light’s been green for a while now, just about to turn yellow. Sergio pushes the gas pedal and the sleek black Audi takes off, gliding down the charcoal streets of Madrid as he takes them home.

 

~*~

 

Cristiano doesn’t even wait until they’re in the door before he mauls Sergio again, pushing his body into the other man’s back and rubbing himself against his hip and ass, already hard again.

“Calm the fuck down Cris,” he chokes out, fumbling with his keys as Cristiano attempts to press him against his own front door. He feels Cris working open the buttons on his shirt. “I’ve got neighbors, you know? What if they’re watching? What if Mesut is watching?”

The thought of any more of his teammates knowing about him is enough to make Cristiano slow down his hips and still his hand. “Well… don’t fucking take so long,” he mumbles, resting his head down on Sergio’s shoulder.

Eventually he finds the right key and gets the door open. The Spaniard grabs Cristiano by the arm and all but throws him inside, then closes the door. Cristiano barely has any time to regain his footing before Sergio is slamming him into the wall, nudging his thighs apart with a knee and grinding their hips together. Their mouths meet in a sloppy kiss, more tongues than anything else. His patience is gone: his blood is pounding in his ears, his alpha biology yearning, needing for him to be buried to the hilt in this willing body.

Cristiano cards his fingers through Sergio’s hair and yanks hard, pulling his head back to mouth at his neck. The defender runs his hands under the back of Cristiano’s thigh and hitches him up higher against the wall. He realizes that they seem to have lost several items of clothing already: both of their shirts are… somewhere, Sergio’s belt is hanging open and Cristiano somehow has no shoes. He needs the bedroom, now, or else it’s gonna go down right here in his entryway and while it might be pleasant in the moment, the after part won’t be.

He grabs at Cristiano’s ass (Cristiano lets out a loud groan and tightens the grip of his thighs around Sergio’s waist) and moves them off the wall. He hadn’t counted on Cristiano being so heavy and he ends up slamming them both onto the opposite wall and almost dropping the other man.

“Sergio...” Cristiano warns with a breathy chuckle, hands scrabbling for purchase on Sergio’s shoulders and the wall behind him, trying to keep himself from falling.

“If you weren’t such a fucking fatass we be wouldn’t having this problem,” he replies in a mock-serious voice. He readjusts his grip on Cristiano and tries it again, pushing away from the wall and slowly making his way over to his bedroom.

“Excuse me, fat?” he sounds scandalized, “I have less body fat than-“

“-a supermodel. I know, we’ve heard.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? It’s true…”

“I’m gonna drop you.”

At that, Cristiano lets out a yelp (“No!!”) and clutches at him like a spider monkey, long limbs wrapping around him tightly. Sergio can’t help but laugh out loud and presses his lips to the other man’s temple. He was only kidding; he didn’t think he’d be able to let go of Cristiano for anything.

 

~*~

 

He dumps Cristiano onto his bed and crawls on top of him, yanking him up higher towards the headboard. Cristiano lets himself be manhandled, just leans back and opens his legs to let Sergio settle in between them. 

Sergio gets his belt the rest of the way off, shimmies out of his fitted red jeans and toes off his shoes. Cris is pushing his hips up looking for friction, which is helpful in getting him out of his own pants. He leans back down over Cris and lets their cocks grind together, still in their briefs. Cristiano moans out as Sergio reaches his hand behind him and lifts his hips up, trying to bring them closer. He swallows up the other man’s pleas, silencing him with his lips as his fingers find their way under Cris’s waistband for the second time today.

Cristiano’s hole is still wet from earlier and Sergio’s finger sinks right into the silky heat with no trouble at all. The Portuguese is incoherent, rambling out more, more, mais, deus, nails raking up a path from Sergio’s ass up to his hips and back down again. Sergio slides another finger in with the help of the slick from Cristiano’s body. He traces the rim with his thumb as he spreads out his fingers, feeling the give of the other man’s inner muscles, marveling at how well the omega takes it. He pushes his fingers in farther and wiggles them around in a tap-tap-tap motion, searching. He knows he’s found what he was looking for when Cristiano gives a full body jerk and cries out, almost sobbing. He keeps tapping his fingers like he’s impatient at a press conference and Cristiano brings his arms up to cover his face as he lets out a scream of pure pleasure. Sergio’s hand is sort of uncomfortable, the way it’s shoved in under Cris like that and so he pulls his fingers out (Cristiano bites down on his own arm to hold in his whine of frustration). He leans back, hooking his thumbs onto the waistband of the other man’s underwear and pulls it down halfway before Cristiano is kicking it the rest of the way off. Sergio takes off his own briefs, and tosses them at where he saw Cris kick his.

Sergio spares a moment to look down at his teammate (at Cristiano fucking Ronaldo, for god sake) and take in the sight of him sprawled open on his bed, begging. He can see the panting rise and fall of his chest, the bright red teeth marks he left on his own wrist. He can see the muscles of those powerful thighs twitching in anticipation, that normally proud face vulnerable and wanting, eyes dark and heavy lidded. He can see Cristiano’s asshole, red and swollen and clenching down on air, waiting to be filled.

He leans forward and grabs at the back of Cristiano’s knees, pushing down until they’re up near the winger’s shoulders, pretty much bending him in half. Cristiano watches as Sergio takes his cock into his hand (his eyes almost rolling back at seeing the size of it) and lines it up with his entrance. He looks up at Sergio’s hesitation, locking eyes with him.

Sergio is not going to ask Cris ‘are you ready?’ or ‘are you sure?’ because he knows the answer already. Right now, he just needs him to look at him, to see his face. Sergio holds his gaze for a beat, before he thrusts into Cristiano, burying his cock all the way to the hilt. The Portuguese’s eyes roll back and flutter closed as he brings his arms back up to his face again, crying out in pleasure.

Sergio pulls out halfway and pushes back in, and again, and again, pulling moans and cries from his teammate. He grabs Cristiano’s arms and pulls them away from his face, leaning his weight forward to pin them down to either side of his head. Cristiano moans at the change of angle. He loves this feeling, loves to be completely dominated like this, with Sergio keeping his arms still and his weight pushing down on his thighs. No cheap agency fuck has held him down and ripped the control away from him, not in the way it apparently comes second nature for Sergio to do so.

The defender’s fallen into a steady rhythm: fast and hard and so deep. Even the sight of Cris’s ass greedily swallowing him in again and again is enough to make his head spin. He moves one of Cristiano’s wrists to his other hand, holding both down and uses his free hand to roam down the other man’s body. He runs his thumb under Cris’s lip and sees how his mouth opens for him immediately, his tongue coming out to lick at his finger. He gives Cris and extra hard thrust for that, making the man bite at his lip. He keeps going down, past his collarbones. He flicks at a nipple and then leans down to lick it in apology. Passes bellybutton, passes hipbones, and wraps his hand around Cristiano’s cock, jacks it a few times. Cristiano clenches down around his cock and moans ngh, si, ahí Sergio, ahí.

“Wait, wait, I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that,” he tells Cris through gritted teeth. Cris mumbles an apology and Sergio can feel him loosen up around him. He starts moving his hand on Cris’s cock again as he fucks up into his body, trying to find that spot he’d located earlier with his fingers. His hair is falling all over his face and pulls his hand away to tuck it back behind his ear. Cris whines until he feels Sergio’s hand again.

Cristiano lets out a yell and Sergio leans back to thrust harder, to nail that spot that’s bringing Cris so much pleasure. Cris’s toes are curling and he’s screaming out unintelligibly, taking it all. The muscles in his ass clench around Sergio again and this time it’s too much. He thrusts again and comes deep inside Cris.

He throws his head back and tries to catch his breath in gasps, the feeling is unbelievable. He can feel his cum rushing out, shooting deep into Cris as the base of his cock begins to swell. Cristiano is clenching down on him again and Sergio remembers to move his hand faster on Cris and the mixture of the stimulation of his cock and Sergio’s knot spreading him wide is enough to make him cum. He’s almost sobbing, white streaks splattering on his belly and chest. Sergio thrusts shallowly again once, twice, and a ragged moan rips from Cristiano’s throat before he just closes his eyes and pants, chest rising and falling rapidly as he comes down from the haze.

Sergio lets go of Cristiano’s wrists and leans his weight on his elbows and knees, his knot still swelling inside Cris, still filling him up with his cum. It feels almost impossibly big, and he moves a hand to pet at the other man’s half-gelled hair, soothing.

“Jesus, Sergio,” the Portuguese chuckles breathlessly and Sergio mumbles an apology, running the backs of his fingers down the side of his face. Cris can feel his muscles spreading inside to accommodate Sergio’s knot, locking them together. The stretch and the burn feel delicious, and he’s always caught by surprise by this, this alpha quirk. He lets his legs crash down to the mattress, jostling everything inside making both of them groan, as he tries to get comfortable. It feels like his ass can’t take any more when the swelling finally stops and Sergio shudders. They’ll be locked together for maybe a few hours or so. It’ll be a while before the swelling begins to go down – they might as well get comfortable.

“That was… wow,” Sergio recovers enough to say. Cristiano hums his agreement.

“I forgot about this part, the knot. I always forget that you guys do that,” Cristiano mumbles, eyelids drooping. He moves again and it makes Sergio hiss, his cock still over-sensitive.

“To be honest, I think I did too. It’s been a while since I’ve came like this, with an omega I mean,” he answers, eyes closed.

Cristiano hums again. He’s about to fall asleep but Sergio’s heavy on top of him, and the angle of Sergio’s cock in him makes the knot uncomfortable. He pushes at Sergio’s chest, “Turn over.”

“What?”

“Turn over, you’re too heavy. We’re switching.”

Sergio mumbles something under his breath and leans up off Cris. With a hand supporting the Portuguese’s hips he flips them over and settles back on the messed up pillows by the headboard. Cristiano is straddling his hips and he lays his head down on Sergio’s shoulder, much more comfortable. Sergio scrunches up his nose when he feels the drying cum on Cris’s stomach rubbing against him. He grabs a corner of the sheet and wipes at it, getting most of it off. Cris lets out a tired laugh, settling in again.

He falls asleep to the feeling of satiation, safety, and Sergio’s fingers tracing idle patterns down his spine.

 

~*~

 

Sergio’s got his phone in his hand, flicking through his apps. It’s his business phone, his personal one was in the pocket of his jeans on the floor somewhere, but he can’t get up without disturbing the man asleep on top of him. Sergio’s other hand is on Cristiano’s ass, fingers idly playing with the rim of his hole, tracing where the muscle is stretched around his knot. It’s already started to go down, in just another half hour he’ll be able to slip out of the Portuguese’s body. Maybe it’ll sink in later on, but right now he can’t quite believe that he has his teammate in his bed, that he’s knotted to him and fucking him through his heat. Not that he’s complaining.

A loud noise from his phone startles him out of his musing. Cristiano flinches and draws in a long breath, starting to wake up. Sergio tries to shush him back to sleep, soothing a hand over his hair but the touch only serves to awaken him farther. Cris scrunches up his face and bats Sergio’s hand away, blinking open sleepy eyes. He looks around in confusion as he lifts his head up off the Spaniard’s chest, before he remembers where he is and why. Cris gives Sergio a tired smile and a rough “hey”. He makes a move to sit up when he realizes the other man’s knot is still jammed deep in his ass.

“Are you serious, you’re still in there?” he grumbles, the muscles in his ass flexing around Sergio’s cock experimentally.

“I’m sorry! I said it’s been a while…” Sergio replies, defensive.

“I’m hungry. Sex always makes me hungry. Sleepy, then hungry.”

“I said I’m sorry!”

“We could have at least fucked in the kitchen, that way maybe we could reach the fridge and eat something. It’s already dinner time.”

“You are such a fucking drama queen, I swear. Do you want me to pick you up and walk you over to the kitchen like this?” He knew Cristiano’s pride would never let him, and he laughs when the Portuguese nails a punch to his shoulder.

 

~*~

 

They finally unknot, and Cris feels Sergio’s cum trickle out of him, down his cheeks and inner thighs. He tries to clench, keep it all inside, but it’s no use.

They get themselves cleaned up and head to the kitchen. It’s been hours since either of them ate and they want to eat something before the next round hits. That was the plan. But when Sergio looks at Cris, wearing his Nike shorts, bruises on his wrists and beard burn on his neck, sees him making himself at home in his kitchen, he can’t help himself.

He winds his arms around the other man from behind, pushes him into the counters, then they sink down to the tiles.

Cris gets his wish of fucking in the kitchen, and he complains and clamps down around Sergio’s knot in him until the other man concedes and butt-scooches them across the tiles to grab Cris some grapes and a yogurt for himself out of the fridge.

 

~*~

 

The next day, they decide they need to shower and get clean. Naturally, “shower” becomes “shower together” and understandably, things get a little out of hand. It starts with Sergio soaping Cristiano up, teasing and caressing; transitions to Sergio on his knees giving the Portuguese a messy blowjob, and ends with Sergio pushing the other man into the tiles, pounding into him.

“We need to talk about how you’re always pushing me into the nearest flat surface, Sergio,” Cris pants out afterward.

“Don’t even act like you don’t enjoy it,” Sergio replies with a smirk.

“…”

“Exactly.”

They finally do get clean and Sergio invites Cris into his closet to pick out what whatever he wants to get dressed in. Cristiano is very impressed with Sergio’s wardrobe, giving the Spaniard’s collection of belts an approving nod and spending a long time looking over his tees.

They end up just lounging around the house. Cris finally finds his phone in the pocket of his man-bag in Sergio’s car, and scrolls through his missed calls and texts. He makes up dumb excuses to the friends he was supposed to meet last night, to Fábio wondering why he’s left his car at Valdébebas, and to Kaká’s “are u ok?” text message.

He listens to the voicemail his mãe left him: “Meu filho, I’ve got Junior. Don’t worry about it, and don’t feel bad. I understand. Just call me when it’s over and let me know that you’re ok. Love you.” He feels a pang in his chest; he knew his mom wouldn’t mind having Junior for a few more days, but he suddenly feel like the worst dad in the world for not even letting her know. He sends her a quick “obrigado,” relived that he’s not going to have to explain the situation to her and glad that she’s so understanding.

They spend most of the afternoon in the game room, with only a few quick breaks for food. He watches TV with Sergio, they play some pool, some PES, and they mostly just talk. They trade stories: Sergio tells him of his tattoos and of his crazy family, and the music he likes, Cris talks about Madeira, but also about Manchester and the wild things he’d do to keep himself entertained there, about his cousins and their cooking, and about how his son is getting too damn big. Sometimes Cris makes Sergio repeat himself (he’s used to hearing Madrileños speak and Sergio’s twangy Andalusian accent keeps throwing him off). In return, Sergio tries to make Cris pronounces his s’s correctly, to no avail. (He’s not going to tell Cris, but he doesn’t actually mind how his Portuguese accent messes up his “s” sounds. Hearing his name from Cris’s lips like “Shhergio” always makes his heart give a little flip.)

Then they fuck on the couch, unhurried. After a brief struggle, Cris manages to come out on top, straddling Sergio and sinking down onto his hard length, already prepared for him.

“What is this?” he laughs breathlessly as he leans back and holds onto Sergio’s thighs, grinding down. “I’m on top this time? You’re giving me some variety.”

“Well you just attacked me, what was I supposed to do?”

“You listened. You care.”

Sergio grins and grabs tight to Cris’s hips, keeping them still as he fucks up hard into the other man’s body, “You wanna –Jesus- you wanna keep talking like that? Because there’s a pool table right here I could throw you on no problem.”

 

~*~

 

Later, Sergio leaves Cris sprawled out on the couch as he goes to the kitchen in search of some little towels he could dampen to clean them both with. He comes back with them in hand and takes in the sight of his teammate picking up his clothes off the floor. Cris is holding himself gingerly, carefully leaning down and Sergio can hear his little “ai!” of pain as he straightens. Suddenly all Sergio can see are the bruises, the scratches, all the marks covering him, all from him.

“Jesus, Cris,” he breathes, “You look like you’ve been mauled by a bear or something.”

Cris looks up at him and laughs, “I look like I’ve been mauled by an alpha.”

Sergio moves closer to him and reaches out to trace his thumb over dark, finger-tip bruise marks on Cristiano’s hips, “I’m sorry, I didn’t even realize…” His voice sounds equal parts awed and regretful.

“No, don’t apologize, I’m not complaining about it.”

Sergio’s thumb moves up to soothe at angry looking teeth marks on the other man’s collarbone. “I didn’t know I was being so rough with you. I couldn’t help myself, I wasn’t even thinking about it.” He kisses at the bite marks on Cris’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry about me, I liked it rough. I mean, I like when it’s gentle too, but I do like it when you’re rough. And believe me, if I didn’t want you, you wouldn’t be here right now.” He had meant to word it ‘If I didn’t want it that way, you wouldn’t be doing it,’ or something similar, but somewhere between his brain and his mouth the words changed. Sergio lifts his head off his shoulder and cocks back to look at Cris in the eyes, a smile playing on his lips. Cris looks back, trying to decipher the look the Spaniard is giving him. It sends a thrill through him, that look, and suddenly all Cris wants to do is kiss that smile.

The kiss is not hungry, or desperate, or leading to more. It just is. And Cris will look back on this moment, much later, and he’ll realize this is where it all changed for him.

 

~*~

 

The fifth time happens the next day, early in the morning, with Cris waking up to the feeling of Sergio’s tongue at his ass working him open, fingers teasing around his entrance. He barely has any energy to lift his hips up and widen his legs, letting Sergio do what he wants. They fuck slowly, deliberately, with Sergio more just grinding deep than thrusting, Cris enjoying the other man’s weight above him. He comes with a muffled groan and Sergio follows soon after, biting down on the other man’s shoulder. Sergio is able to just pull out like a normal person this time, and he lets himself collapse onto the bed next to Cristiano and wraps an arm around his side, pulling him close. He lets the heat of Sergio’s body drag him back under, the other man already softly snoring behind him.

 

~*~

 

When Cris wakes up again later that morning, he knows immediately that his heat is over. He can’t feel that buzzing in the back of his mind thrumming through his veins anymore, can’t feel the sense of urgency.

He’s wrapped up in Sergio’s arms, pressed up against the other man’s naked body, the sheets tangled around their waists. The sticky heat of Sergio’s skin is threatening to lull him back to sleep, but Cris knows that he needs to get up. He hasn’t been home in three days, hasn’t seen his son in four; it’s time to go.

He carefully untangles their legs and nudges Sergio’s arms away, carefully extricating himself from the warm cocoon of the bed. Quietly, he pads into the adjoining bathroom and finds the spare towel he’s been using while he’s been here. He catches sight of himself in the mirror, all bruises and crazy hair, and cringes.

He showers quickly and dries off, wrapping the towel around his waist. He runs a hand through his curls and decides his hair is in an official crisis right now and goes in search of Sergio’s hair gel. He rifles through the cabinets until he finally finds what he’s looking for. It’s not the brand he normally uses, the one he imports from Manchester, but it’ll have to do. He dips his fingers in the little tub and begins to careful put every strand in its proper place. He’s got that Farruco song Nena Beba stuck in his head again and he’s humming as he fixes his hair.

“What’reyou doin’?”

Cris looks up at the mumbled slur and sees Sergio standing in the doorway, tucking gnarled bedhead behind his ear. The other man is wearing nothing but his tattoos, and the Portuguese is standing frozen by the mirror, the want curling in his insides having nothing to do with heat.

“Just fixing my hair. It was a complete disaster, you should have seen it.” He forces out a laugh and a smile, suddenly unsure of himself now, without his pheromones to hide behind.

“It’s over, isn’t it? Your heat.” Of course, Sergio is an alpha and even by just a quick inhale he’d know immediately there was something different about the other man. He sounds almost disappointed.

“Yeah, it’s over.” And Cris can’t keep the disappointment out of his voice either.

Sergio scrubs a hand down his face and pulls his hair again, thinking. “Well, don’t leave just yet. I’ll drive you home.” Cristiano is nodding at him because, no, he doesn’t actually want to leave right now; it’s that he has to.

 

~*~

 

Sergio pops in the shower real quick and rinses off, conditions his hair and spends forever untangling it. Cris is done his own hair when Sergio turns off the water. He looks down at the counters, searching for cologne in order to pretend that he’s not flat out ogling the dripping, naked man in his vicinity. His ass twinges in pain, reminding him that it’s actually very sore and very much not up for anything anyways.

Sergio watches him for a bit, putting on his cologne here in his bathroom wearing his towel, and gets that same sentiment he got back in the kitchen a few days ago. Seeing Cris making himself at home in his space feels so right. He’s already made up his mind that he wants this, all of this, for as long as he can have it.

 

~*~

 

He finds Cris waiting in the entryway, looking around at the walls, at all the pictures and decorations. Sergio remembers bodies frantically pushing up against these same walls. The second painting is still crooked from where they stumbled that first day. He blinks and the memory is gone. Cris looks over at him expectantly, dressed in Sergio’s plain white tee and his own Nike shorts.

“Ready to go?” Cristiano asks, giving him a once-over look from his sandals to his still wet hair.

“Yeah,” he replies, and walks over. He passes next to Cris and goes to reach for the doorknob, but he stops himself. Now or never, while I’ve got the balls.

He whirls around to face Cris. “I know that you have to go, and that you’re gonna go anyway, but I wanted to let you know that I really want you to stay right now.”

Cris makes a little choked noise. “Sergio, I have a son,” he replies, willing the other man to understand.

“I know.” He does understand, he knows that Cris loves his son and his family more than anything, and he’s not faulting him for that. Not at all.

“I… I do want to stay,” he locks eyes with Sergio, “But maybe I could ‘stay’ some other time? Later?”

“I can do later.” It’s not more, it’s not forever, it’s later. He can live with that.

“I just want to make sure we’re clear on this before we do any ‘later’.” He suddenly turns serious and Sergio straightens a bit. “This thing, with you and me, it’s more than just a casual fuck during heat for me. If it’s not, for you, just tell me now and we can end this. I’m done with casual, I don’t want to jump into bed with people anymore, even though it may not have looked like it these past few days.”

“I was hoping you would say that.” A grin threatens to burst through Sergio’s lips. “I don’t want a fuck; I can get that anywhere to be honest,” (Cris subtly rolls his eyes) “I just want you.”

“Good,” Cris nods, the relief he feels surprises him. “And another thing: I’m just warning you, so you won’t be surprised, that I can be a dick sometimes. I can be moody and self-centered and selfish and every bad thing people say about me. But I’m not like that all the time.”

“I know Cris, I knew how you were before any of this.”

“Well, I’m just telling you so you won’t think this will be easy. I’m not the easiest person to be with. Actually, it’ll be -”

“Why are you trying to scare me away?”

Cristiano stops, blinks, “I’m not trying to scare you, just-”

“You’re not going to scare me away. If you hadn’t noticed, I’m not perfect either. Neither of us is, and that’s ok. I’ve already made up my mind. I want you, and everything that comes along with it. I’m all in if you’re all in.” Sergio looks so genuine, so honest, that Cris has to believe him.

“I’m all in.”

“Good. And so long as Nike doesn’t hear about that little moment then we should be fine.”

“Sergio! Be serious, this is a big fucking deal.”

Sergio doesn’t answer him. He just cups Cristiano’s face in both hands and kisses him, long and hard, presses him against that same wall (a little bit more gently, this time) and lets him know with his lips exactly how serious he is. There’s affection in that kiss, steadily growing with each press of the lips, but also, there’s a promise.

 

~*~

 

The half-hour drive from La Moraleja to La Finca is a quiet one and Cris spends most of it with his head against the glass, just taking in the sights of the city waking up. His skin is buzzing with equal parts excitement and nerves, slowly letting everything sink in.

They pull into the gates of his expansive house and Sergio lets out a little “Shit!” and slams on the brakes when he sees Cris’s dogs zooming up to the car.

“Oh jeez, I hope someone’s been feeding them,” Cris muses. He hadn’t even thought of his pets until just now, but he thinks his mom must have been coming by or sending a cousin to come and feed them. He sends another thank you up to heaven for his family, and then turns to face Sergio.

“Thank you for the ride and uh, thanks for taking care of me,” Cris’s brain is not really letting him put words together, and he’s struggling for something to say.

“Taking care of you?” Sergio laughs, eyes bright, “I like how you worded that.”

“You know what I meant, Sergio,” Cris blushes.

“I know, I know. Believe me, I didn’t mind one bit,” Sergio grins.

“So, I- I’ll see you tomorrow for practice, ok?”

Sergio’s smile drops a bit and he gives Cris a strange look, “Alright, see you tomorrow.”

Cris steps out of the car and goes around to grab his bag from the trunk. He calls his dogs to his side as the Spaniard backs up. He starts waving goodbye to Sergio, and then quickly lowers his arm. He feels like an idiot, he made that moment way more awkward than it had to be. From his front door, he watches as Sergio backs up past the gate, turns, and then disappears from view.

 

~*~

 

He walks in and shuts the door behind him, dogs following him in. He sets his bags down by the door and walks into his big living room. Tiredly, he sinks down onto the couch and lets out a deep long breath and closes his eyes. He just sits there for a while, processing. A little smile threatens on his lips at the thought of more. He feels like just sitting like this all day and getting rest, shutting everyone out before having to deal with the world the next day. But when he opens his eyes and sees a little pile of kid’s toys in the corner, he is reminded again; he’s got priorities.

His mom sounds overjoyed to hear from him again, promising to be over as soon as she can to bring Junior. She passes the phone to little Cris and even though it’s mostly just toddler-speak, Cristiano is glad to hear his son’s voice. They have a short babble conversation before his mom makes Junior put the phone down to get him ready.

She brings him by in about an hour, along with some breakfast foods, sweet pastries including pastel de nata, and also little a basketful of crispy bolo de caco. (She’s always known that after a heat he’ll be hungry and in need of comfort foods.) He grabs for Junior as soon as they walk in. He balances him on his hip and kisses all over his little face until he’s screaming in laughter. He plants a kiss on his mom’s cheek and the three of them head to the kitchen.

He sits Junior down on his lap as he and his mom tuck into the food. According to his mom, his son had already eaten, but he kept asking for a bite from his pai’s plate, so Cris gives him tiny spoonfuls. His mom keeps giving him these furtive glances between bites, sometimes looking like she wants to say something, then she’ll say something completely different. Finally Cris meets her eyes and says, “Ask.”

His mom laughs innocently, “Ask what?”

“You know you want to ask, so just ask. It’s ok,” he’s blushing a bit because, no, it never gets less awkward to discuss this kind of stuff with his mom.

“Well, I don’t want to know details, son, but I know it wasn’t someone from an agency because you said you were going to call and schedule it, but then you never came home from practice. I just want to know if I should be worrying.” She says it with a note of concern that makes him want to spill everything, but his own sense of propriety keeps his tongue in check.

“No, you have nothing to worry about, mãe. He was… he was a nice guy,” he’s blushing harder now, and what the fuck is this? He never blushes. He’s also fighting a smile and his mom immediately perks up, realizing the difference.

“A nice guy?” She’s giving him a knowing, motherly smile. “Did you know him from before, then?”

“Yeah, I’ve known him.”

“Do I know him then?”

“You know who he is, yeah.”

“And so you guys decided to meet up after practice then, I’m assuming?”

He drops his gaze down to watch little Cris playing with the buttons on his phone. “I wouldn’t say decided… It wasn’t really planned.” Out of the corner of his eye he sees his mom’s smile droop and hears her quiet, “oh”.

“So can I ask what happened?” She’s back to concern again.

“Well,” he doesn’t know how to word it, because it’ll sound terrible any way he puts it. “Turns out that I discovered there’s an alpha on the team…”

Her hand flies up to her mouth and she looks like she’s about to cry. “Oh, no. Oh, Cristiano.” It’s been her worst nightmare, that he’ll be in heat and there will be an alpha around that wouldn’t be able to control himself, and Cristiano wouldn’t be able to control him.

“No no no no, mom, it’s not what it sounds like. Well, I mean, that’s sort of how it started,” she lets out a wailing “ai deus!” “But that’s not how it ended! It ended very well, mom. Its ok.” He’s reassuring her and she’s a bit more composed now. Quietly, she says, “I can’t make your decisions for you son, so if you say it’s ok, then it’s ok. I’ll keep worrying though, but it’s ok. Just one last question, then I’ll drop this: are you ok?”

Cris takes a moment to think about it. Is he ok? Is he ok with Sergio taking him home and fucking him for three days straight. Is he ok with letting Sergio become more than just his heat-lust fuck? Is he ok with trying for an actual relationship with a teammate?

“Yeah,” he whispers, “Yeah, I’m ok.”

 

~*~

 

After she leaves, he decides that he needs to rest up as much as possible, so he goes to his big living room, pulls out all of little Cris’s favorite toys and sprawls out on the couch to watch him play. Seriously, he could do this all day: watch his son playing and using his imagination, rolling his little cars around and making different sounds for each one.

He jumps a bit when something vibrates in his front pocket. His phone shows a new text. It’s from Sergio: **so when do i get to see u again? ;)**. Cris laughs and goes to type out a reply when another one comes in: **not for THAT but u know, just to see u. :)**.

He writes back: **youll see me in practice tomm, i told u.**

It’s not long before he gets a reply: **dont be difficult ronaldo u know what i mean**. Cris grins. His son makes a roaring noise and Cris looks over in time to see him throw a police car at the wall, then calmly pick up a fire truck and keep on playing. He quirks an eyebrow. **come find me after practice then we’ll see.**

He gets up and grabs the police car from the floor, then sits down across from his son. Junior lets out a happy babble, rolling his truck toward the car and making some kind of beeping sound effects. Cris plays along, making his own noises and picking up random cars. His phone buzzes across the rug. **will i get a goodbye kiss at least?**

He thinks for a moment. Junior has decided that his phone is another toy car and is making grabby hands for it. Quickly, Cristiano types out: **i dont know man, u have to earn those. we’ll see.**

Sergio replies with **;) ;) ;)** and Cris finally lets his son take the phone. He lays back and stretches out on the carpet, creating new hills and valleys for Junior’s cars to roam over.

 

~*~

 

Some of Cristiano’s teammates are giving him weird looks.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that he’s the only one wearing long sleeves in this balmy weather (though he did hike up the hem of his shorts higher up to compensate). Maybe it’s because he has his thermal neck wrap on. Maybe it’s because he has been so obviously, thoroughly fucked and most of the team can tell. Maybe it’s because there are other alphas on the team who can smell Sergio all over him, even a day later (Mourinho gave him the weirdest look of all when he passed by).

His footwork is also off again today, so that could also be why. He’s still sore from the rampant fucking he and Sergio did, and he’s having trouble running through his drills. This time though, the struggle is different than at the last practice; last time he felt heavy and tense and wound too tight, this practice he feels almost lighter and he has to fight to keep a dorky grin off his face.

 

~*~

 

Sergio is watching Cris demonstrating a trick to Morata when Iker comes up next to him.

“So I saw you talking to Cris the other day, thank you for that,” his captain tells him, squinting against the sun, “Did you ever find out what was wrong with him?”

Sergio racks his brain to remember something, anything, that happened before three days ago, “He, uh, he was just nervous about Osasuna and … and still bummed out about that penalty at Athletic. He’s ok now though.”

“Good, good. He does look better. So how did it go?”

“It went fine.” Sergio can’t help a blush and Iker lifts an eyebrow.

“Sergio, I can smell him all over you. I think it went a lot better than fine,” Iker gives him a vague smirk.

Sergio freezes.

His brain registers exactly what his teammate said, and what teammate meant. What the fuck? He’s been playing alongside Iker for years and he had no idea the other man was an alpha. Then again, they’d never discussed it; their biology was one of those things that everyone knew about, but no one talked about, an open secret. His brain freezes again when he realizes-

“Wait. Wait. Iker, you knew, this whole time?” Iker’s still giving him that hard-to-read smile. “Did you know about…Cris, too?”

Iker grins and pats Sergio on the shoulder. “I only do what’s best for my team, Sergio.” Then the goalkeeper jogs away and joins the rest of the keepers with Silvino, not even sparing a backwards glance.

Sergio stares after him, wondering what the fuck just happened.

 

~*~

 

Sergio did get his goodbye kiss after practice, and he did get his “later”. Later became “see you tonight”. It became “meet me at eight”, and then it became “spend the weekend here”. It also, eventually, became “come to Portugal with me” and “come over and meet my brother”, and also “I cleared out part of my closet for you”. Later eventually became always, but like Cris had said to him, it wasn’t always that simple.

In some ways, Sergio feels like he’s gone about everything backwards. He’s figured out all the ways to make Cris moan and scream, how to make his toes curl and what he likes to do and be done to him, but he still feels like he doesn’t know the important things. He doesn’t know the little things, he details of Cris’s life. He doesn’t know if the man likes tea or coffee, or the movies he likes to watch, or what he will or won’t let Junior eat. He knows Cristiano inside and out as a lover, but not as a person, not yet.

He has yet to figure when to approach Cristiano after they’ve lost a match, and when to give him his space and leave him alone to stew. He doesn’t know how to cook even the simplest of Portuguese dishes yet, and keeps having to call Dolores for tips. He has yet to learn how to reign in his protectiveness and not get himself a red card whenever an opponent’s brutal tackle leaves Cris curled up on the pitch in agony.

He’s been learning though, over time. He knows now that Cris doesn’t love seafood, but he does like it in Madeiran dishes and paellas. He’s figured out that, sometimes, on rainy days, Cristiano gets an inexplicable craving for tea, and Sergio gets the milk and sugar ready. Sergio knows that Cristiano rarely goes out shopping, but that when he does, he brings home the whole store with him, and Sergio is happy to introduce him to DSquared. He now gets calendar alerts sent to his phone when Cris’s heat is coming up, and he makes sure to completely clear their schedules for that week.

In a way Cris was right about this, but he was also wrong. There have been hard times, sure, times when he wondered “Is this worth it?”, when he just missed what things where like before Cristiano. But there have also been good times, and Sergio thinks that in this case, the good far outweighs the bad. Sometimes he feels like he’ll cave under the pressure of hiding this from almost everyone, but he’ll carry that weight and more if it means getting to share a life with Cristiano. He knows it’s just as hard, if not harder for the omega, with the whole world watching him, but Cris has a smile just for Sergio that makes him think it’s all worth it every time he sees it.

He still hasn’t learned it everything, and sometimes he thinks he never will, but it doesn’t matter. He’ll figure it out, piece by piece, and they’ll build something for themselves, and it’ll be great.

For Cris, Sergio’s more than willing to learn.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to sparksfly7 for the beta!
> 
> Originally posted on LJ June 2012.
> 
> I'm on tumblr! [Stop by and say hi!](http://soliamosquedar.tumblr.com/)


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